The Attack of the Glasses
by jamesandlilypotter81
Summary: Sequel to 'A Ridiculous Term.' Patrolling was boring and a waste of time. That is, until Evans asked if she could join him.


The Attack of the Glasses

There were many advantages to being Head Boy, despite Sirius's loud assertions that it only made one even 'more of a swot.' The Head students had a later curfew, they were given all the passwords to every single room in the castle, _and_ they could take points from any 'unruly' students—or, as James liked to think, any student _he_ didn't quite like.

Of course, for him, the greatest advantage of being Head Boy were the rounds he had every night.

Initially, he found rounds to be a literal nightmare. He was forced to prowl the corridors, looking for amorous students hidden in empty classrooms as well as supposed 'miscreants' who thought they could fill the admittedly —if he did say so himself—_large_ shoes of the 'retired' Marauders. (Not that they had actually retired. They had merely paused their efforts temporarily in order to escape McGonagall's wrath—which, contrary to what most believed—was rather extensive and harsh). Patrolling was boring and a waste of time.

That is, until Evans asked if she could join him.

At the time, he had thought that everything his mother had warned him about had finally come true—that all the blows to the head by Quaffles, Bludgers, and other Quidditch players had permanently addled his brain. Why else would Lily Evans burst into the Captain's office, rambling on about his supposed 'Quidditch-toned' body and how he had to stop Feiffer from spreading the lies? But contrary to what his parents—and quite possibly all of his professors—believed, James was a rather logical bloke. Though his heart claimed that he was just hallucinating ("You've imagined this sort of scene before, though granted, it was never quite so realistic—but that's just silly details!"), his brain backed up his eyes ("What is wrong with you, man?! She's right there—Answer her question before she decides you're too stupid to patrol with!"), and he decided that, no, he was not imagining the whole thing.

Thankfully, the heart-brain-eyes conversation was settled quickly (though it was two-on-one so it really wasn't all that fair), and he was able to answer the very real Evans, who was standing awkwardly in the Captain's office, her eyes focusing on everything but his face.

James had muttered some sort of cheesy line—he couldn't even remember it now, though he suspected that Evans had ingrained it to her memory, just for whenever she needed a laugh—and they had spent the next several hours together. Evans had seemed genuinely interested by the charts and plans he had created for the Gryffindor team, and had asked questions, claiming that she wanted to learn more about Quidditch (though James suspected she was just trying to be nice). Even on their rounds, all they talked about were the hundreds of fouls one could commit during a Quidditch game, how a tiny third year wanted to try out for Gryffindor Seeker would be perfect for the position, and why it was a good thing that the school had recently gotten a donation of broomsticks. James thought that he had bored her to death, that she had only put up with all the Quidditch talk because she didn't think him capable of any other sort of conversation. He was sure she would never want to patrol with him again.

But he had been wrong.

The very next day, Evans asked if she could join him again.

And so it went. Though he had offered to take care of the rounds on his own for the first month—just so she wouldn't have to spend any unnecessary time with him—here she was, _voluntarily_ joining him, as if she actually enjoyed his company. By the end of October, the two of them had fallen into perfect rhythm: at exactly eight, every night, they would meet up in front of the Fat Lady and patrol the corridors for the next several hours. It was incredible, and he had just learned to love rounds, to actually enjoy his job has Head Boy, when everything fell apart.

Because he should have known it was too good to last, that eventually something would go wrong—that he would listen to his stupid heart again and ignore the very sound advice of his brain.

He should have known better than to kiss her.

In his defense, he had been on an excellent high. Gryffindor had won their first Quidditch match—the Seeker he had chosen had caught the Snitch literally ten minutes into the game—and they were well in the lead for the House and Quidditch Cup. So when he made an offhand comment about how relieved he was, how brilliant it felt to win his first match of the year, and Evans laughed merrily, his brain…well, to be perfectly honest, he was sure it had suddenly crashed. All he knew at that moment was that she was laughing, she was walking so close to him that their shoulders brushed, and she smelled nice. Logic faded, reasoning died, and he kissed her—without warning, without even a quick, "Hey, Evans, I have a brill idea." He just did it. While he comforted himself with the fact that she _did_ respond—though only for a second, and seemed quite surprised of that fact, as if her lips had a mind of their own—he also knew he had botched any sort of chance he had with her. Which, really, was possibly the worst way to crash from a high ever.

And now, an excruciating twenty-four hours later, James leaned against the wall, knowing that he could wait by the portrait of the Fat Lady all night and Evans would _still_ not come on rounds with him.

"She's only a few minutes late, Potter. No need to look so glum," the Fat Lady said, her friend Violet giggling obnoxiously next to her.

"I'm not glum. _I'm not_," he reiterated when Violet's giggles turned into guffaws. "Oh shut up, you're a painting, what do you know?"

"There's no need to be so snappish. _I'm_ not the 'complete prat.'" James's eyes widened.

"Is that all you do with your time? Eavesdrop on people when they think aloud?"

"No, I eavesdrop on everyone. I make no distinctions."

"How open-minded of you," James deadpanned, pushing himself off the wall and staring at his watch sullenly. He _had_ botched everything up; Evans clearly wasn't coming. Sighing, James shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing he had accepted Sirius's offer of pranking the Slytherins. At least _that_ would have cheered him up.

Resigned to spending his night telling off students for snogging, James started to walk down the corridor, totally ignoring the Violet's laughter. He hadn't gotten very far when he heard Evans call his name.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked as she caught up to him, her eyes slightly narrowed.

"I didn't think you'd show."

"Why wouldn't I show?" James blinked at the question. Was she testing him? Was she trying to force him to apologize in some sort of underhanded way? Had he actually imagined the kiss, that for once his heart was right about the whole 'hallucination' idea? His silence must have been answer enough, because Evans laughed and rolled her eyes. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had given up."

"James Potter does not give up," he answered immediately, feeling a sting in his pride. However, after a second, he realized her statement didn't make a great deal of sense. "Wait. What?" Evans grinned and began to walk, forcing James to rush behind her, feeling completely lost. "C'mon, Evans! I'm not a Legilimens. How can you expect me to know what you mean?"

"It's not that hard, Potter."

"Says the person who _knows_ what's going on."

"You're the one who started all this!"

"Started what?" James asked, flabbergasted. Evans turned around suddenly, looking straight into his eyes, her expression fierce.

"Why did you kiss me if you were just going to give up after one day?"

"Because you pulled away!"

"You didn't give _warning_, James! I was surprised, that's all. And then you started to mumble, and we had reached the Fat Lady already. You didn't even give me the chance to say anything."

"Okay, then. What _would_ you have said? You know, if given the chance?" She smiled slightly.

"I would have said that your glasses nearly poked my eye out. Ironic, considering."

"Well, that's not the response one would expect, given the situation."

"Well, you should think about that before you attack someone without warning."

"I _kissed_ you, Evans. Don't exaggerate."

"I'm not exaggerating. You tried to _blind_ me. I just think your lips accidentally landed on mine in the process." James looked at her carefully, wondering if she was being serious. He finally made up his mind after she sighed and continued, "Now, if only you'd show me this 'blinding' attack again. I think your technique needs work, Potter. I can help you practice." James cleared his throat, straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"My technique is fine."

"Prove it," she dared, obviously trying to stare him down.

"If you were so desperate for me to kiss you, Evans, you should have just asked. I'm always happy to help." Somehow, during the course of their conversation, they had edged so close together that all he had to do was lean his head slightly, and his lips would be on hers.

"Truth time?" Evans asked, her eyes flickering to his lips for a moment.

"The truth is always nice."

"I was sort of glad you mumbled and didn't give me the chance to say anything. I wouldn't have known what to do."

"But you do now?"

"Definitely," she said before she pulled his head down for a kiss—this time avoiding any potential accident with his glasses.

_Happy Halloween!_


End file.
